


I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), White Christmas (1954)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mid-1950s, David Nolan and Killian Jones, navy vets and business partners, meet Emma and Mary Margaret Blanchard, a sister act, in Florida. The chance encounter leads them to follow the sisters to Maine for the holiday. Will it be love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing

“Toss me the line!”

“Heads up!”

David Nolan did as requested, and threw the dock line to his captain and best friend, Killian Jones, who quickly and deftly tied up their large sailboat. Miami was their last stop before the Christmas holiday and they were looking forward to spending time on the beach, far from the memories of loss that often plagued them this time of year (and even more so this year). David even caught himself humming “Mele Kalikimaka.”

After escorting their passengers from the ship and seeing them off, both retired to their shared cabin to get ready for a night on the town. 

“Where did you want to head tonight, mate?”

“How about the Carousel?”

“The Carousel? That cheesy old place?” Killian scoffed.

“And you’ve got a better idea?”

“I hear the Flamingo has great live acts.”

“I thought you wanted to dance tonight?”

In a well-rehearsed motion, Killian began rubbing the back of his right shoulder, immediately eliciting a groan from Dave. The men first met in the Navy during the War—Dave fought for the Americans and Killian for the Brits—and battled side-by-side on a few missions. In one particular encounter, Killian saved David from an errant German bullet, but somehow managed to get the bayonet on Dave’s rifle stuck in his shoulder. Since then, he’d been able to use that literal sore spot as a bargaining chip; too often, the phrase “but you stabbed me, Dave,” had led to all manner of mayhem led by Jones. Usually it was something as innocuous as where they'd spend their shore leave, but it was also the reason there were a small handful of ships traversing the Eastern Seaboard under the Captain Charming name. 

Not wanting an argument tonight, David quickly folded. “Alright, let’s go to the Flamingo.” Killian shot him a too-perfect grin as he headed above deck.

It felt nice to have solid ground beneath their feet. They’d spent far more time at sea than on land in the years since the war ended; not long after D-Day, they’d decided to go into business together with a charter ship, taking the rich and famous on cruises all up and down the East Coast. David couldn’t stand to head home after he lost his twin at Normandy, and Killian’s brother had captained a ship that had been attacked and sunk by a U-boat. The farther they could get from both memories, the better. And their venture had since expanded, leaving them their own bosses and happily independent. 

Well,  _ somewhat _ happily independent. They were free to be their own men, but both were still smarting from lost love over the past year. Just one more reason to not be at home for the holidays. 

The Flamingo Club lived up to its name: bright pink everything and neon lights shaped like the bar’s namesake bird hung all over. It was a bit gaudy, but so was the rest of Miami. The boys managed to snag a table near the dance floor, where a sign advertised tonight's act, the Swan Sisters. 

“A sister act? Really?”

“Mate, I need to see a pretty girl. Especially after that old bat Mrs. de Vil we had to deal with this week.” Even with his recent heartache, Killian had always been something of a ladies’ man, but he was right—crazy Cruella de Vil had made them far too glad they were single and they needed a reminder that there were nice young ladies out there, whenever they were ready for them. 

Halfway through their meal, the house lights dimmed and the skinny, bespectacled emcee stood in the spotlight on the dance floor. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to welcome to the Flamingo on this fine evening the Swan Sisters!” Killian swirled his rum and gave Dave a wicked smirk as the singers took the stage, hidden by comically oversized, white feathered fans. David just rolled his eyes back at his friend and returned his focus to the floor. 

Later on, David wouldn't be able to recall what the ladies wore or the song they sang, because the minute the fans went away and they came into view, he couldn't see anything but her. The way she moved, the way she sang, the way she smiled all had him enraptured. They were good, no doubt; but there was something else about her that drew David in, some little part of her soul that was bared in her performance. 

“Wow,” Killian whispered. “I've never seen anything more beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” was all David could manage back. 

“Have you ever seen eyes that green?”

_ Like an enchanted forest _ . “No, never.”

“And her hair…” David was admiring her short curls and the way they perfectly framed her round face as Killian went on. “It's like the sun.”

_ Wait, what? _ The girl David was admiring had dark hair. Briefly, he turned his attention to the other sister: equally pretty, with the same green eyes, but hair as golden as a sunrise. A quick glance at Killian showed he was as enraptured with her as David was with her sister. So he merely grunted a quiet agreement and went back to watching the show. 

All too fast, the number was up, and a couple more after that, and they left the stage. The return of the house lights pulled both men out of their dazes. Drink and dinner were long forgotten in their reverie. “Good choice, Jones,” was all David could come up with. 

Almost immediately, Killian jumped from their table and ran off toward the dressing room door, before David could protest. Flashbacks to an awkward night in Boston ran through his head and he didn't think he could take it if he was somehow embarrassed in front of the lovely creature he'd just watched. 

Moments later, Killian returned looking way too proud of himself. “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing, mate. I just told the manager that if the ladies were hungry, we'd be much obliged to get them dinner.”

David groaned. “Just don't let this be a repeat of the Patriot Club, okay?”

“How was I supposed to know they were men? They had excellent stage makeup!” 

David was still shaking his head at Killian when two visions appeared before him. The blonde sister led the way, followed by her brunette counterpart. Both wore simple but classy gowns in shades of green that complemented their complexion. 

Instinctively, the men jumped up and pulled the remaining chairs at their table out for the ladies, who thanked them with polite but not-quite full smiles, as if they were assessing the situation. 

“You ladies were absolutely brilliant tonight,” Killian began. “We just wanted to show our appreciation.”

“Thank you,” the blonde replied demurely, taking her seat. If she could tell how Killian was hanging on her every word, as few as they had been so far, she was ignoring it. David had never seen Killian so smitten, but he could hardly say different about himself. The glance exchanged between he and the brunette as he pushed in her chair sent a shiver up his spine and a flutter in his heart. 

“And you are…?” The golden-haired sister continued. Killian sputtered for a moment—mentally chastising himself, David could tell—and nearly tripped over his own name. “Killian Jones, and my business partner and best friend, David Nolan.” David nodded, eager to learn their guests’ names. 

“I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard, and this is my sister Emma,” the dark-haired beauty introduced. 

“So where does Swan come from?” David asked, surprised he had any words.  _ Mary Margaret _ . It suited her. 

“It was our mother's maiden name,” Emma explained. 

“Just sounded more exciting than the actual last name,” Mary Margaret finished. 

“It suits you,” Killian offered, barely hiding the adoration in his voice. David was increasingly closer to kicking him under the table; he’d never seen Killian fawn like this. 

The ladies ordered and the conversation continued over the meal. They learned that the girls came from a small town in Maine and had a pretty idyllic childhood, but it was just them now as their parents had passed away, so they were using their talent to save up money for the future. 

“What are your plans?” David inquired.

“I want to be a teacher!” Mary Margaret practically squealed; her enthusiasm was endearing. 

“And you, Emma?” Killian asked.

“I haven't decided yet. But I'm more than happy to help her; she's looked out for me since our parents died, so this is the least I can do. And it's fun to travel and see the country.”

“Where are you headed next?”  _ Oh, tell me you’re staying here _ .

“Back to Storybrooke for the holiday.”  _ Damn _ . “We're performing a few nights at our friend’s inn.”

“Sounds lovely,” Killian gushed. 

“It will be,” Mary Margaret smiled back. 

The band started to play a dance number, and he knew Killian couldn't help but ask Emma to join him; she obliged, happily it seemed ( _ guess he is dancing tonight, then _ ). And he couldn't complain when it gave him a moment alone with Mary Margaret. 

For an awkward minute, he was at a loss of words. Like Killian, he was typically smooth around women, enough to earn the nickname Prince Charming (and thus half the name of their business). But she left him speechless in the best way. 

“So why do you want to be a teacher?” he finally asked, leaning in toward her.

“Oh, I love kids. And teaching is one of the noblest professions out there; I love to learn and I want to share that.”

She got more perfect every time she opened her mouth. “That's quite admirable. I hope you get there.” He paused, considering his next question, but deciding to barrel on. “And what does your boyfriend think of that?” ( _ Please be single, please be single… _ )

“My boyfriend?” She seemed confused. “I don't have one.” ( _ Phew _ .) “And even if I did, it would hardly be his say, would it?”

“No, it would not,” he agreed. He couldn't see how any man could deny her anything, especially with the determined set of her brow as she defended her choice. 

She studied him a moment before continuing on. “Besides, with all our traveling, who even has time for dating? Surely you know the feeling, with all that time at sea.”

He ducked his head a bit. “Yeah, I do.” It was like a double-punch to the gut: a reminder of his relatively fresh heartache and a warning that whatever he was doing here with Mary Margaret wasn’t going to go very far.

She immediately looked apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry—did I say something wrong?”

“No, you’re fine; my fiancée broke things off recently. Said I spent too much time away.” He sighed. “She was probably right, but I also can’t say I missed her when I was gone, so maybe it was for the best.”

If he had blinked, he would have missed it, but he was pretty sure he caught a gleam of disappointment in her eyes.  _ Now I’m the one screwing it up _ . “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said quietly, leaning away from him; he hadn’t even noticed her moving toward him and immediately missed her presence in his personal space. And so they were back at the beginning, an uncomfortable silence settling in. 

From their seats, he could see Killian and Emma merrily twirling to the old big band tune out on the floor, smiles on their faces, and he got a little jealous. He was about to ask Mary Margaret to dance, but before he could, she slid out from the table and stood. 

“It was very nice meeting you, David. Have a merry Christmas, and safe travels.” She wore a put-on smile on her face and offered him her hand. He quickly stood, clasping her fingers, and wished her the same. And then she was gone. 

Defeated, David slumped back in his chair and stared into his drink.  _ Smooth _ . He downed the rest in one gulp, unable to believe his crap luck.

* * *

Killian couldn’t believe his amazing luck. He’d picked the club on a whim, and here he was, dancing with an angel in his arms. Emma was incredible: beautiful, fierce, yet sweet; a welcome distraction from thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, Milah. Hell, there was a good chance Emma could make him forget all about her. There was something guarded about the lovely lass in front of him—something that told him not to press too hard too fast. Everything about Milah had been a whirlwind, and when she wanted to settle down before he was ready, she found someone else who did. He got the distinct impression that anything here would go at Emma’s pace, and he was more than happy to oblige if given the opportunity to court her.

“Are you sure you have to head to Maine tonight?” he implored. 

She chuckled. “Yes; our friends there are the closest thing we have to family. It’d be a shame to not spend Christmas with them.”

“Too true, love.”

“What about you? Avoiding family?”

“None to avoid. David is it.” Until tonight, he had planned on happily ignoring the holiday altogether and the memories it brought up of his lost brother the parents who were long gone. He wanted to kick himself over the sad look that crossed her face at that, but it was quickly replaced by something happier, and he could tell she was planning something.

“You know, Maine is awfully beautiful this time of year, with all that snow.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, daring him.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. There’s just something special about a white Christmas.”

“Indeed there is.”  _ Is she saying what I think she’s saying? _

“And Storybrooke is right on the ocean. Easy access for sailboats.”

The hopeful look in her gaze made him smile even bigger, if that was possible. “That sounds wonderful, Swan.”  _ Swan? Mate, what are you doing; you know that’s not her name _ .

She raised an eyebrow at the nickname and he began internally cursing himself even more. But then the corner of her mouth ticked up in an amused manner and she continued on. “I really think you’d like it.  _ Much  _ better than Christmas on the beach.”

“Hm, I’ll consider it,” he teased back, but his mind was already made up. He’d just need to talk Dave into it, but that shouldn’t be  _ too  _ much trouble.

A whirlwind of green taffeta and dark hair rushed past them, breaking his trance. “Mary Margaret?” Emma gasped, pausing mid-step as she watched her sister run by. “Shoot, I better see what’s going on. She’s not usually like that. I’m so sorry, but it was lovely dancing with you, Killian!”

She turned to follow her sister, but he grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her elegant fingers. “The pleasure was mine, Emma. I hope to see you again soon.” She smiled back, blushing and nodding, before dashing off. His eyes and heart followed.

“Ah, mate, the best things happen while you’re dancing,” he exclaimed as he returned to his seat.

“Do they?” came the somber reply from David. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

“What happened? Did you muck it up?”  _ Wouldn’t be the first time _ ; Killian had been the witness on more than one occasion to David not living up to his nickname. 

“Eh, probably. Kathryn came up.”

_ Bloody Kathryn _ ; those two had never been a good match. He’d called David a fool for even proposing—their lives were too different, and she was far too much a princess for someone as humble and hardworking as Dave. 

_ Mary Margaret, though _ ...it wasn’t just because of his newfound feelings for Emma. He knew David was attracted to her and he had seen the same from her—he was an excellent read of people. His mind quickly formed a plan as they headed out of the restaurant.

“You know, Maine is awfully beautiful this time of year, with all that snow.”

“Really?” David narrowed his eyes at Killian. “What happened to Christmas on the beach?”

“I don’t know; there’s just something special about a white Christmas.” He winked for emphasis.

“Killian, it will take days to get there.”

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“We don’t have any winter stuff.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” It hadn’t been all that long ago they’d stopped in New York.

“Killian…” David whined. 

Feigning pain, Killian began to rub his shoulder again, feeling the bump of the scar under his shirt. “Oh, Dave, do you remember that time you stabbed me? Yeah, it’s hurting again…ah!” He only just missed the half-hearted punch David sent his way, but his yelp made an older couple on the boardwalk to the docks jump. David huffed in annoyance. 

“And what does that mean, mate?”

“It means we’re going to Maine.”


	2. There Were Never Such Devoted Sisters

“MM, what’s wrong?” Emma barrelled into their dressing room, finding her sister haphazardly tossing dresses and undergarments into her carpet bag.

“Nothing, nothing,” she muttered back, eyes down. A clear sign that it was  _ something _ ; Emma could always tell when someone was lying, especially her own flesh and blood.

“Then why did you dash off away from a perfectly nice man?”

Mary Margaret glanced up, giving Emma a warning look that confirmed her suspicions. “Emma, come on; our train leaves in less than an hour. Pack up.”

As directed, Emma began folding her clothes and putting them away. But she wasn’t going to drop the issue, especially after the night she had. She’d been skeptical of Killian’s attentions at first, but after dancing with him, she could tell he was a gentleman (a fact he’d assured her of a number of times). And there was something exotic about him, with his British accent and worldly air. She loved that she got to see so much of the US as a performer, but craved more—more that he had seen and was reflected in his sea-blue irises. To be honest, she was a little frightened by how quick she'd warmed up to him, but that was concern for another day. When it came down to it, he and David both seemed to be genuine, good men, and that was hard to come by in this day and age.

But ever since their parents passed away, Mary Margaret, being a few years older, had gotten it into her head that Emma had to be put first. She was grateful, but it meant that far too often, Mary Margaret ignored her own needs.

And she needed a man.

(Obviously not “needed”—they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. But there needed to be someone else in her sister’s life that wasn’t her.)

“David was quite handsome, wasn’t he?” Emma ventured. A small smile crept across Mary Margaret’s face, but no farther. That was enough for Emma. “Did you get his address?”

“Well, it’d be pretty hard to correspond with someone who spends all his time at sea.” She could tell her sister was trying to be nonchalant, but Mary Margaret tried too hard and betrayed her true feelings; more than a little disappointment tinged her voice.

“Is that it? That’s why you’re all in a tizzy, avoiding him?”

Mary Margaret swallowed. “It just isn’t the right time. Maybe when I’m done with school.”

“Mary Margaret! That’s ages from now!” Seriously, her sister’s ability to come up with any excuse to not see someone was incredible. Emma had past heartbreak to attribute to her emotional walls—being left at the altar will do that to a person—but Mary Margaret had no such experience. She was always too worried about Emma to have any. “When will you realize that I’m fine, and I don’t need you to be a mother hen about me.”

“I never said it had to do with you.” Her sheepish tone said otherwise.

“It’s been implied.” Emma closed up her suitcase and walked to the other side of the room, where Mary Margaret was packing up their makeup, and wrapped her arms around her sister. “I just want you to be happy, M&M.” The childhood term of endearment seemed to warm Mary Margaret up a bit.

“That’s all I want for you, too,” she said, patting her sister’s arm. “But right now, I want to get out of here and onto that train. Granny will kill us if we miss it.”

Emma glanced at the time. “Oh, goodness, you’re right.” Quickly, they finished packing and hopped in the cab waiting to take them to the station.

* * *

The  _ chug-chug-chug _ of the train had become a comfort to Mary Margaret over the past few years on tour; it was almost to the point that she couldn't sleep without the gentle rocking of the rails.

But here on the top bunk of their sleeper car, with Emma lightly snoring below her, she was wide awake. Emma's words from earlier and a pair of bright blue eyes kept bouncing around her head.

It was true that she often put Emma’s needs above her own, but she'd promised her parents that she'd take care of her younger sister. And she'd failed miserably when it came to Neal; she should have known that no-good scamp would manage to get arrested on his wedding day. At least he hadn't had the chance to take down Emma with him.

But the whole experience had made her cautious. And she really didn't need any distractions—she WOULD be a teacher. All their hard work was aimed at that singular goal; she wasn't about to up and get married and become a wife, like so many young ladies did nowadays. She wasn't judging, but that wasn't for her.

_ David, though _ ...Emma was right, he was perfectly nice. And sweet. And intelligent. And handsome. And independent. But almost too much. Ever so briefly, she had let herself start falling for the sailor; she couldn't help it, really. That is, right until he told her about his last relationship. She could identify with the struggles of being away, but she couldn't give her heart over to someone who might abuse it in the long run. She did want love, eventually, but she wanted real love and not just a fling.

Over the next couple days of their journey, she mulled over her stance on relationships, and Emma’s a bit, too. More than once, Emma had mentioned Killian as they sat in the club car, catching peeks of ocean panoramas as they sped through the mountains. Emma had her fair share of short-lived romances since Neal, but they were just that: short, and she knew Emma did that on purpose.

But if her sister was open to letting someone in again, maybe she could give it a try.

The trees grew denser and the air colder as they traveled farther north into Maine, and soon they were at their stop. It would still be an hour’s drive to Storybrooke, but just being close was enough to give them new energy.

They had barely stepped off the train when a melodious voice sounded. “Yoohoo! Swan Sisters! Your carriage awaits!”

“Ruby!” they shouted simultaneously and ran toward their friend. A chorus of squeals broke out at their reunion, drawing stares from passers-by, but they didn't care. “Oh, it's been so long, Ruby! How have you been?”

“Oh, same old. Life doesn't change in Storybrooke; you know that. But you! You cut your hair! And Emma...I know that look. We need to talk boys.”

“Uh, no we don’t! There's nothing to discuss.” As was so often the case with her, Emma could admit her feelings to anyone but herself.

“Right. Which is why you kept talking about Killian the whole trip here? He's nothing?” They may be grown, but she could always tease her baby sis, and relish the bright red embarrassment on Emma’s cheeks right now.

“Ooh, Killian? I like the sound of that. Grab your stuff and then let's chat!” Knowing Ruby and the bold, red, wolfish grin on her face, Emma was in for no less than the full 20 questions. Which was probably why she dove for the backseat of Ruby’s big, bright red Ford sedan.

Thankfully, no such interrogation happened, as Ruby was more curious to hear about their adventures, hanging on their every word as the told her about the towns they'd performed in from coast to coast.

“You sure you don't need an extra stagehand? Costume manager? I gotta get out of Storybrooke, girls; throw me a bone!”

Emma scoffed. “And what would Granny do without you?”

“Oh, she'd be fine. Pleeeease take me with you.” Ruby was whining now.

“Granny would most certainly NOT be fine without you. Who else would hold her back from shooting the idiots with her crossbow?” Everyone in Storybrooke knew not to cross Granny; that was one of the many reasons Mary Margaret loved the woman.

“True,” Ruby agreed with a giggle as the town came into sight. Just as she said, it didn't change: the same storefronts, the same houses, the same people. They waved at old friends as they made their way down the main drag toward the inn. Both peeked at their childhood home, which they'd let out to renters in their absence; it looked well-kept, to their relief.

And there, on the outskirts of town under a thin blanket of snow: Granny's Bed & Breakfast. The main building held rooms and a diner; the big barn out back was home to the horses, and also to the sleighs that got used each winter. Growing up, the girls spent just as much time here as they did their own home, playing with Ruby and helping run things during the War.

The car’s tires crunching on the gravel sounded their arrival, and Granny rushed out to meet them. She had more white in her hair and wrinkles on her face than when they'd last seen her, but she was just as spry as ever. Her stern reputation was well-known; she was tough to begin with and her time spent in Europe, on Allied front lines, had made her harder yet. (She'd never fully admitted to just what she was doing there; when prompted, she said she ran a mess hall, but that seemed too obvious.)

But to the Blanchard girls, she was a surrogate grandmother and caretaker, and one of the sweetest women they knew. She was whip-smart but loving and had a way with a crossbow; she'd do anything to protect all of her girls. When she went overseas, the Blanchards stepped in to oversee care of the inn and Ruby; when the Blanchards died, she returned the favor.

“Oh, my girls, you're home at last!” she shouted with open arms as Emma and Mary Margaret ran to hug her. “Don't stay away so long next time, you hear?”

“We’ll try, Granny,” Mary Margaret assured her. “It's good to be home.” Just standing in Granny's warm embrace was enough to calm all her jumbled thoughts and nerves.

“Granny, you're going to crush them if you don't let go soon, and then I'll have to perform for the guests. Which means I'LL have to sing, and no one wants that!” Ruby yelled as she pulled luggage from the boot of the car.

“Don't even joke about that, Ruby,” Granny warned as she released the girls, who could only laugh. “Now come on in and let's get you settled in a room; you must be tired from the trip. I'll send some food up.”

“We’re  _ fine _ , Granny,” Emma assured her, but both knew that went in one ear and out the other. They settled into a routine over next the few days of rehearsal in the morning, spending the afternoon either in town or riding horses through the woods, and then performing at night before retiring to Granny’s plush beds. Even though they were working, it was a much-needed respite from the chaos of the past year—and a distraction from any lingering thoughts of a certain gentleman Mary Margaret had met recently.

But of course, fate had other ideas. She and Emma were eating lunch at Granny’s counter, listening to a bit of Ruby’s gossip on former classmates, when two snowy figures came into the diner.

“Excuse me miss, we'd like to inquire about letting a room.” Emma stiffened at the familiar, accented voice, who had just taken off his hat, as had his companion. Two sets of blue eyes almost immediately fell on their green ones.

“Swan,” Killian said with a smile and a wink. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Emma blushed. “I see you took my advice, Jones.”

“Aye, that we did.”

Ruby watched their exchange with a gleam in her eye, but Mary Margaret found herself staring at her plate, purposely avoiding the heavy gaze she could feel coming from David’s direction.

“Oh, we can definitely arrange something,” Ruby announced far too eagerly, and went about getting lodging for the boys, giving Mary Margaret a wink as she dashed off.

Killian sidled up to Emma and they began exchanging pleasantries, which apparently was David's cue to approach. Mary Margaret took a deep breath to calm her suddenly racing heart before looking up at him.  _ All you have to do is be nice; it doesn't have to be romantic _ .

But then she looked at his face—lit up with a pleasant smile—and knew she was a goner.

“How was your trip, Mary Margaret?”

“It was fine. And yours? You sailed, I take it?”

“Yeah; we hit a rough patch of sea near Boston, and Storybrooke was a little hard to find, but otherwise smooth...uh, sailing.”

They both chuckled at his awful pun before an easy silence settled over them—nothing like their first encounter. Maybe it was the relaxed setting, or maybe it was the honest joy in his eyes, but something here felt genuine and real, and like it could develop into something more.

“I heard you the first time, Ruby; now hold your gosh-darn horses,” Granny’s irritated voice sounded as she emerged from the back. “I hear you boys are looking for a room?” she asked the newcomers, with Ruby following her, a devious grin on her face.  _ Oh no _ ; that almost always meant trouble for the Blanchard girls.

“Agent Lucas?” Killian seemed to be shocked at the sight of Granny, and after a moment’s pause, stood stock-straight and saluted, a motion David echoed.

The three girls’ jaws dropped, while Granny blushed—actually blushed—for a second before regaining composure. “At ease, boys,” she commanded, staring them down as they relaxed. “‘Agent’ doesn’t get any use ‘round these parts. It’s Granny here.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Emma regained her voice before Mary Margaret or Ruby could to ask the obvious question.

“Yes; Agent...er, Granny Lucas was on our ship as, um…” Killian trailed off when Granny focused her sternest stare on him.

“She ran the mess,” David supplied unconvincingly.

“Yeah, that’s right, mess. Best lasagna I’ve ever had!” The guys were terrible liars, but they could tell that part of the conversation was, sadly, over.

Satisfied, Granny handed over a key to David and pulled the large guest book from under the counter. “You boys will be in room 305, and I trust I don’t have to give my usual lecture regarding funny business?”

“No, ma’am,” came the simultaneous, solemn response.

“Room 305? Why Granny, that’s right next to the girls in 306!” Ruby exclaimed, and the mischievous glint in her eye told Mary Margaret that it was anything but coincidence.

Before she could glare at her meddling friend, David spoke up. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing each other around.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Her heart rate picked up at the very idea. “If you ever have any questions about the town or anything—”

“I’ll find you.” It was only a few words and a shy smile but somehow, they carried so much weight.

As they performed that night on the diner’s small stage, she caught a glance of David in the audience, watching with awe and—though she could easily be mistaken from the glare of the stage lights—a bit of adoration. (She  _ definitely  _ saw the way Killian was staring at Emma and could practically see the hearts in his eyes.)

She’d scarcely ever let herself dream before, but with David? She couldn’t help but hope.


	3. Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep

After their performance that night, Mary Margaret had headed upstairs to wash up, but Emma stayed on in the diner for a bit to hang out with Killian and David. Regardless of her attraction to Killian, the boys were excellent company and great conversation. (But Jones was certainly looking dapper that night in a tailored blue suit that highlighted his eyes, which were already made bright by his constant grin.)

The hour grew late before she knew it and her yawns got closer together. "Well, gentlemen, it's been fun but I should probably call it a night," she announced as she slid out of their booth.

"Allow me to escort you upstairs, milady," Killian insisted, standing as she did with a look on his face not unlike a hopeful puppy.

She blushed a bit; no one had ever offered to escort her anywhere, not even Neal, and she'd definitely never been called _milady_. "If the kind sir insists," she assented, trying to play coy even though she was secretly thrilled.

He offered his arm and she wrapped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they bid David good night before falling into step as they exited the diner and headed upstairs.

She'd certainly been this close, physically, to a number of men over the past couple years, but even the most intimate acts had never felt _this_ intimate. It was both exciting and unnerving that he had this effect on her. She had tried—and failed—to block him from her thoughts the past few days, only finally shutting up about him when the threat of Ruby's prying eyes came into play. So she was more than a little captivated by how well they seemed to fit together here and now, and couldn't quite believe that he was so eager to turn his attentions to her.

Which was the exact moment all her past fears and insecurities decided to rear their heads. She knew deep down that he was more genuine in his affection than Neal had ever been, but convincing her heart would take some time.

She sobered a bit as they climbed the last flight of stairs to the third floor, in companionable silence the whole time, and made the short trip to her door.

"I believe this is where I leave you, love," Killian said quietly with a soft smile.

"It appears so."

"I had a lovely time tonight, Emma." Just like after their dance in Florida, he grabbed her hand and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles; his soft lips against her skin sent a tingle up her spine.

She didn't quite know what possessed her to do it, but when he came back up, she stood on her tiptoes and pecked the apple of his cheek; words had escaped her, and she was always more a girl of action, anyway. He glanced down when she leaned away, but she didn't miss the new pink color on his cheek.

Before she could go any farther (because she knew she wanted to), she turned and opened the door to her and Mary Margaret's room. "'Night, Killian," she softly stated, slipping into the room.

"Good night," he stuttered back, and the last thing she saw before closing the door was the light falling on his too-blue eyes, illuminating the adoration and hope in their depths.

After closing the door, she leaned back on it and released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. _I may be in too deep here_.

"So how was it?" Her sister's voice startled her. Mary Margaret was staring at her from bed, where she had clearly been reading.

"You're still awake." Emma figured her sister—the embodiment of "early to bed, early to rise"—would have turned in long ago.

"Couldn't sleep. But tell me everything! I heard him out there; did he kiss you goodnight?"

"You're as bad as Ruby! I should have gotten my own room." Despite herself, though, she smiled.

"A-HA! I thought it was too quiet out there!" Now Mary Margaret was sitting up straight with a far-too-eager expression on her face.

Whatever _this_ was, Emma needed to figure it out before she had her sister and friends breathing down her neck. So she did what she did best: deflected.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," she began as she started to take off her jewelry. "What I'm more curious about is why you couldn't sleep."

The smirk on Mary Margaret's face went away quickly. "Oh, you know, you just can't sleep sometimes."

_Two can play this game_. Emma's mind went to work quickly. "You know, I heard sometimes that eating something before bed can help you fall asleep."

"I'm not hungry."

_Maybe not for food_ , but Emma had seen the starved way her sister looked at David upon their reunion that afternoon. "No, really; it's supposed to take blood flow away from the head and help you relax, especially if you're thinking of anything...or anyone…" (Particularly someone who Emma knew was still in the diner.) "I bet Granny has some food down there."

With an annoyed huff, Mary Margaret threw the covers off. "Fine. I will go get something to eat. But not because I'm hungry; only so you'll stop bugging me."

Emma turned away from her sister, who threw on a robe and marched out the door, to hide the wicked grin that came over her.

* * *

Begrudgingly, Mary Margaret headed down to the quiet diner. She highly doubted food would calm her mind, but maybe the short walk would refresh her spirits.

A few lights were still on, and to her surprise, a figure was at a table facing away from her, making her pause. She inwardly groaned when she realized who it was: David. _Really, Emma?_ Of course her sister would send her down here. Alone. With him. (Probably as payback for her attempted interrogation a minute ago.)

She tried to head back up, but the traitorous stair she stepped on creaked, giving her away. David immediately turned in her direction and his initially startled expression quickly gave way to a soft smile.

"Mary Margaret! What brings you down here so late?"

_Can't sneak off now_. "Couldn't sleep," she told him as she sheepishly headed his way. "Thought I might look for a bite to eat."

He hopped up out of the booth quickly. "Granny told me she left some sandwiches in an icebox before she closed up; let me grab them." He slipped behind the counter like he owned the place, and she could hear him shuffling things around and opening and closing doors as she approached. "Here we go!" Proudly, he popped back up with a tray of finger sandwiches and a bottle of buttermilk. "Grab some glasses and meet me by the fireplace?" He looked as hopeful as she felt earlier, so she silently nodded.

Quickly, she did as was asked and followed him to the stone hearth, where the remains of a fire still crackled and gave off a meager amount of heat. She handed him a glass and he poured them both a generous portion of milk while she inspected the platter.

"Ugh, of course Granny would have liverwurst sandwiches." She crinkled her nose at the unpleasant memory of the few times it was forced on her as a girl, after being told " _it will make you grow up strong!"_

"Yeah, she's always had an odd affinity for that, hasn't she? She'd always have it during the war." David curiously picked it up, inspecting the offending meat.

"You mean she never forced it on you? I thought she was your mess officer," Mary Margaret asked cheekily, hoping to pry out some more of the story of Agent Lucas.

"Oh, uh, I always managed to avoid it," David deflected. _Darn it!_ "But I guess I'll give it a shot now." She watched as he sniffed it, winced, but took a bit anyway. And winced again.

"I could have told you that would happen," she said with a laugh as he quickly reached for the buttermilk, taking a long drink. "I think I'll stick with ham and turkey."

"Sounds good," he choked out, forcing another giggle out of Mary Margaret. "So," he continued on after a few more gulps of milk, "why is it you can't sleep?"

She looked down, studying the ancient stone of the fireplace—anything but look him in the eyes and give herself away. "Oh, just a lot on mind." _You. You on my mind_. He'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman since his arrival and it was putting all her fears to rest, which in turn scared her. "Maybe I should try counting sheep."

"I've always found it best to count my blessings," David suggested. "That's a much happier way to fall asleep."

"Oh yeah?" _Of_ course _he's full of sweet sentiments like that..._

"Yeah. That and my family shepherds; I've counted enough sheep for one lifetime."

She laughed. "I'll have to give that a try. Maybe I just need to switch up my old routine."

"Well, there is something to be said for a tried-and-true routine. Just look at the Navy."

"Yes, but perhaps it's time I let go of some of my old schoolgirl fantasies." Her sudden honesty, both with herself and David, took her by surprise.

"Like what?" Curiosity was written across his features.

_I can't believe I'm about to admit this_. "I remember when I was little, seeing _Snow White_ for the first time. The whole 'someday, my prince will come' thing sounded pretty good back then. But now that I've grown up, I'm not so sure."

He took another sip of buttermilk, brow furrowed in thought. "You don't think your Prince Charming is somewhere out there?"

"No, I think he is," she stated boldly, looking David in the eye. "I just don't know if I'm ready for him."

Recognition flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Well, when you're ready, I think he'll find you."

She swallowed. "Really?" she breathed.

"Definitely," he replied sincerely. "Did I ever tell you my nickname?"

"No, what is it?"

"Prince Charming."

She gasped. _No; no—this is impossibly perfect_. But it was real, and he was right there in front of her, smiling back with affection.

Whether it was his words, the romantic fireside setting, the brightness in his blue eyes, or some combination of all those, Mary Margaret was compelled to slowly lean toward him, almost unconsciously. He reciprocated the motion, and gently reached up to cup her face. Her breath hitched at his touch, but she quickly recovered and closed the distance between their lips.

It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the first that rocked her to her core. His soft lips were gentle against hers—never rough or demanding; passionate, yet tender. And there was more meaning behind it than anyone she'd ever kissed before; it wasn't a tangible thing—just a gut feeling—but it was definitely there. It was brief, almost too brief, but perfect.

Too soon, he pulled back and hovered a few inches away; she would have been happy for the moment to have lasted forever. He tentatively glanced up at her with a shy smile, but she couldn't hold back her own grin.

There was still a part of her that was terrified, but the larger part—the part that was singing inside just like Snow White in the forest—was overcome with glee. _I think I really did find my Prince Charming_.

* * *

"Mate, are you sure you're okay?"

David could hardly focus on his breakfast, as delicious as he knew it was; he just kept moving his eggs around on the plate. He was still riding a high from last night and completely in his own world—well, for the most part; he and Mary Margaret kept exchanging surreptitious, knowing glances and smiles across the diner between his booth and her perch at the counter. (It didn't look like she was eating much, either, which got her a scolding from Granny at one point.)

But Killian's concerned tone shook David from his reverie. "Yes, I swear, I'm fine."

"Now, are you going to tell me why you were so late in getting back last night?" Killian inquired with a raised brow.

"Oh, you know, just...couldn't sleep. Was just thinking."

"Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the lass you've spent the entire meal staring at?" David blushed, earning a chuckle from his best friend. "Thought so. Do tell."

"I, uh…" He sighed. He'd never been one to kiss and tell, but… "We... _may_ have kissed."

Killian started laughing and slapped the table. "Al-right, Dave!" He leaned back and added, "It's about damn time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." It had been years since David felt so bashful, so he figured he'd turn the tables. "What about you? What happened when you two left?"

The tips of Killian's ears suddenly turned crimson as he slouched down, but his smirk betrayed him as he glanced back up.

"You, too?" David exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down.

Killian scratched behind his ear; Dave had figured out early on that was his nervous tell. "Not a full kiss, per se, but, uh, she did, right here," he stammered out, tapping a finger on his cheek.

"Well, look at us," Dave stated proudly.

"Now aren't you glad we came?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

They both chuckled softly, but the jingle of the bell on the door drowned it out. Killian's face quickly fell when he glanced in its direction. "Oh, bloody hell."

"What?"

"Spoke too soon." He nodded at the door.

All the elation David had felt, as well as the air in the room, was sucked away. Kathryn had just walked in. And she was looking right at him, frozen in place.

"Bloody hell is right," he murmured. The seconds they were staring at each other felt like eternities, but soon, she started moving towards him.

"And that's my cue to leave," Killian quietly announced, slipping out of his seat.

"No, Killian, wait—" David protested; he really didn't want a confrontation with Kathryn, considering how things had been left between them, but it looked like that wasn't an option. As quick as Killian dashed off (rubbing his shoulder the whole way and muttering about aches and pains), Kathryn was there.

"Hi, David."

"Hi." _Smooth, David_. "Uh, you look good, Kathryn."

"Thanks," she replied tentatively. "So do you. I thought…" She swallowed. "I thought you were going to be in Florida."

"Plans changed," he offered with a shrug. "What happened to Christmas in Boston?"

"My father decided he wanted something more scenic, so…"

"...So his word is law and you all packed up and followed," David finished. His former future father-in-law was kindly, but ruled with something of an iron fist (though some said it was gold, given the family's wealth). "Do...do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the now-empty booth.

She answered by sliding in. "I, uh...I'm seeing someone," she blurted out, looking down. He still knew her well enough to read between the lines— _she's moved on_.

He honestly wasn't surprised; actually, he was more than a bit relieved. "Good; good for you. I trust he's a good guy?" Just because he didn't want to marry her didn't mean he didn't want the best for her.

She smiled shyly. "Yes, he's wonderful. You remember Fred, from my father's office?" David nodded, recalling the lanky, dark-haired guy. "We've been going steady for a few months now."

"That's great, Kath. I wish you both the best."

An awkward silence followed, during which they both ardently stared at the patterns on the tabletop, until she timidly spoke up. "And you?"

He didn't want to speak too soon and jinx whatever he had with Mary Margaret, so he settled for a partial-truth. "There's someone." (The smile that followed couldn't be helped.)

"I hope it works out, David." She smiled and patted his hand, the unsaid _I'm happy for you_ clear to him. Their conversation then fell into general topics—their parents and families, work, gossip, and life as a whole. It was nice to be able to talk with her just as friends; it had been far too long since they had. But it was clear that that was all they were now, and he was more than fine with that.

A glance at the clock behind Granny's counter told him he needed to finish getting ready for the day—Mary Margaret had promised to take him on a horseback ride, something else he hadn't done in ages. He and Kathryn both stood from the table when he excused himself, and he found himself instinctively pulling her into a hug.

"I'll see you around," he farewelled, with a platonic peck on her cheek, and watched as she walked back over to her family with a calm smile on her face.

The book with Kathryn was finally closed, and he couldn't wait to start on one with Mary Margaret.

But a flash of dark hair angrily breezing past his shoulder quickly told him it wouldn't be as easy as that.

"Mary Margaret," he called after her, grabbing her hand in a scene that reminded him far too much of their first encounter.

"Don't," she snapped back, not even looking at him as she pulled her hand away, leaving him confused in her wake.

_What happened?_


	4. Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the super long delay on this! My muse was just not working, but it seems to be coming to me again. So have an update to a Christmas fic at the beginning of February

Emma had just donned a knit cap and was buttoning her red wool coat when Mary Margaret barged into their room, uncharacteristically forcefully.

"M&M? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," her sister practically shouted as she slammed her book on the nightstand and dramatically threw herself down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Um, this is something." _She's never been this worked up; not since Neal._

Emma sat on the edge of the bed. "Seriously, tell me what's wrong?"

Mary Margaret responded by grabbing a pillow and holding it over her face. "I've been stupid," Emma heard muffled through the goosedown. Emma tried to pry the pillow away, but her sister held firm.

"There's no way you could be stupid about anything, Mary Margaret," Emma assured her. "You're the smartest person I know."

"Not always," Mary Margaret grumbled.

The time on the clock on the nightstand told Emma she should be going—and so should her sister. "Well, quit moping; aren't you supposed to be going horseback riding with David?" (She may have added a sing-song voice to his name.)

Mary Margaret just groaned. "Not anymore. Have fun with Killian; I'll see you later."

"No, I'm not leaving you like this. What hap—"

"Go!"

Despite her concern, Emma knew when to give her sister space. _I'll try again tonight; let her cool down_. "Alright; love you, see you later."

She slipped out as quietly as she could (not that it really mattered) and headed out, down to the docks, where Killian was going to show her their ship. On the way, she mulled over everything with her sister over the course of the day: Emma had been asleep when Mary Margaret came back to bed last night, but she'd started out the morning humming songs from Snow White, which could only be a result of something wonderful happening between her and David. But then she seemed so angry and hurt just now, and she grumbled at Emma's mention of the man. So what happened?

"Ahoy!" Killian's shouting voice pulled Emma from her thoughts; she had reached the docks before she realized. And there he was on an old-fashioned tall ship, like something from one of her father's pirate tales. The memory and the image before her made her grin.

She stood at the end of the gangplank. "Permission to board?" she called out.

"Permission granted!" She carefully made her way up the snow-covered ramp, partially for safety but mostly to enjoy the view of snow falling against wooden planks, and maybe more than admiring the way it stuck to Killian's dark hair, thick lashes, and trim beard. His eyes sparkled with glee just like they had the night before, and a spark of thrill raced down her spine when he took her hand to escort her down the steps to the ship's deck.

"Behold: the Rolly Joger!" he introduced, with a grand sweep of his free arm, before realizing his error. "Er, the Jolly Roger!" he corrected bashfully. She couldn't tell if the rosy color in his cheeks was from the cold or embarrassment, but either way, it was adorable, and she giggled at his gaffe.

"Jolly Roger, eh? You don't _look_ like much of a pirate," she teased. She had to bite back a laugh at how quick his expression became one of indignation (far closer to real than mock than she would have expected).

"I'm the scourge of the high seas, I'll have you know. Quite the dashing rapscallion!"

"Dashing, really?" _Well, it's true_ ; she couldn't deny it, but she wouldn't let him know that. "If that's what you were going for, then I wonder why you'd name your ship after Captain Hook's? I don't recall him being much of a ladykiller, unless you're into perms or waxed mustaches."

"See, Disney would have you believe Hook was a buffoon; but in the original story, he was handsome and cunning. That," Killian paused before leaning in and whispering, "and you might be surprised at just how many people would pay to travel aboard a pirate ship."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Give me a tour?"

"My pleasure," he replied with a slight bow. He led her from one end of the deck to the other, explaining the ship's workings and looking far too at home at the helm.

"So did you learn all this in the Navy?" As much fun as she was having just in his presence, she wanted to know more about him.

"Aye, a good bit, but I've been around ships my whole life. I grew up in a small port town in England; most people spend more of their lives on water than on land there."

"And the Navy was the logical choice once the war started?"

He was leaning against the wheel in a cocky manner, but glanced down and sobered at her question, making her instantly regret asking. "Something like that. My brother had already joined several years prior, so I would have followed him into service even without the war. Our mum died when we were small and Dad left a few years later, so it was just us." He swallowed. "I don't know where I'd be without Liam."

She could certainly identify with that level of sibling admiration; it had just been her and Mary Margaret for almost a decade now. She also sensed there was more to the story, but she'd probably dredged up enough wounds for one day. Stepping forward, she grabbed his hand and squeezed gently. "Show me below deck?" she asked with a soft smile.

"If the lady insists," he replied, returning the gesture. A bit of sparkle came back to his eyes and he guided her down a hatch to the hold, which was surprisingly modern. A few well-furnished cabins, one small but clean bathroom, and a fully equipped galley were a sharp contrast to the rest of the ship.

"Impressive," she commented. "I may just have to book a trip someday."

"Aye, she's a marvel," he agreed. "And you, Swan? Just name the date." They'd reached a pair of doors at the back of the ship.

"So where are we now?"

"My quarters." In one swift motion, he pushed the door open and gestured for Emma to enter. She took off her snowy cap as she entered, taking in the surroundings; he followed suit, adorably shaking the melting flakes from hair. The room was a bit spartan—just a bed and a desk, with a few book-lined shelves built into the wall—but homey nonetheless. A few framed photos of ships were hung up, but she stopped in front of one of a smiling man in a naval uniform with all-too-familiar eyes.

"Is this your brother?"

Killian strode over to her. "Yeah, that's him. Don't let the grin fool you; he was a stubborn arse." His use of past tense didn't escape her.

"Did you two serve together?"

"For a short while, we did. I was his lieutenant and first mate, but I was eventually reassigned." He glanced down, studying the dark wood floorboards. "A few weeks after I left, they were attacked by a U-boat."

A pit formed in her stomach as she immediately realized the reason for his soberness: not just that his brother was gone, but the survivor's guilt was written all over his face. "I'm so sorry, Killian." Unsure what else to do, she ran a reassuring hand over his arm.

He gave a tentative nod back. "I'd have followed him to the ends of the earth. He was the bravest man I knew; far better than I." Continuing, with a half-smile, "So all I can do now is try to honor him. And Dave is actually a lot like him, so if I ever need a reminder of my brother's bullheadish-ness, it's right there."

Emma chuckled back, partly at the joke, and partly in relief that she hadn't ruined their day with awful memories. "I definitely know how that goes. My sister may seem easygoing, but she's as stubborn as they get."

"You know, I'd try to argue, but given Dave's adventures in wooing your sister, I believe it." He wandered over to his bookshelf and began rummaging around.

Emma's thoughts immediately returned to the scene in their room earlier. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know if something happened between them, would you?"

Killian turned back around, having produced a bottle of rum and two glasses, with his eyebrows nearly sky high in disbelief. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He gestured for her to take a seat on his bed, which she obliged, but was anxious to hear whatever he knew.

"They kissed last night." He said it all-too casually as he placed their glasses on his desk and poured their drinks. "David is mad about her."

Emma gasped in surprise and joy, but it quickly faded to annoyance as he handed her a glass. "That girl…"

"What about her?" Killian enquired, taking a sip and a seat in his desk chair.

"She came in all frustrated this morning. She's always done this—put my needs and my love life above hers. It's like she's too afraid to settle down until I'm off and married. So now she's trying to get out of it, so she can keep being a mother hen to me." Emma sighed and downed the rum in one gulp, earning an impressed smirk from Killian. "I just wish there was some way to convince her that I'll be fine on my own; that she's free to go after whoever or whatever she wants."

Killian was curiously silent for a moment after her rant, but she could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head. "I...I may have an idea, love."

She was intrigued. "And what might that be?"

"Just hear me out first." Her heart rate rose out of curiosity and maybe a tiny bit of concern. "What if...what if we told them that we were engaged?"

Now her heart really was racing out of fear. _Oh, anything but that._

* * *

Killian had very little idea what possessed him to say it, and he immediately regretted it upon seeing her panicky response. Bloody buggering idiot. She stood and began pacing the room, so he quickly hopped to his feet to apologize.

"Emma, I'm sorry; it was just an idea—just forget I even—"

"No, no, it's not your fault, Killian; it's just...just…" She collapsed back on the bed with a sigh. "I was left at the altar once."

"Oh, Emma." _Who could do such a thing to someone like her?_ He sat down next to her; now it was his turn to do the comforting, after she did her best when he told her about Liam. "I'm sorry, love."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Killian; you didn't know." She took a few deep breaths, before telling him the story of her ex-fiancee and his misadventures with the law that culminated the day they were to be wed. "So, love—marriage—I've just been a little wary of the whole thing ever since."

"I understand, Emma. I don't have the greatest track record either."

"You've had your heart broken?" She sounded like she didn't believe him.

"Aye; I didn't pop the question soon enough, so she found someone else who would." (But if he was being quite honest with himself, the sting of Milah's breakup had lessened immeasurably in the time he'd spent with Emma.)

"Well, don't we make a team?" she half-joked, but they both knew she was right.

"That's what I'm saying, Swan; perhaps if we convinced your sister that you were about to settle down, she'd be so inclined herself. And if it gives me a bit of a break from Dave, I'm all for it."

"He can't be _that_ bad," she ribbed.

"Don't get me wrong—I love the bastard. But I can only deal with him for so many days at sea before I'm ready to throw him overboard."

She laughed, but then glanced down, nervous again. "It's only temporary, right?"

"Of course." _Though I certainly wouldn't mind if it wasn't._

"Can I add that we only tell them if it's absolutely necessary?"

"Certainly."

"And we use any other means we can think of first?"

"Totally."

She pondered it a moment more, before taking a deep breath. "Okay, I'm in."

He couldn't hold back his grin. "Excellent."

They spent a bit more time chatting over another glass of rum and the sandwiches he'd procured from Granny's, and both were far more relaxed and forward with each other. Emma told him of growing up in Storybrooke with Mary Margaret and Ruby; he told her of his childhood in England with Liam.

Perhaps he'd had a bit too much rum—perhaps they both had—but he found himself increasingly closer to her as the day wore on. And neither of them seemed to mind. Feeling particularly bold, he threw out another of his more crazy ideas, though he didn't know how it could get any more insane than the one he'd already proposed and she'd agreed to.

"You know, Swan, if people are going to believe we're in love, we better act like it." He tapped a finger to his lips. "Maybe we should practice?"

The corner of her mouth ticked up in an amused smile. "So you're that insecure about your kissing skills, huh?"

"Oh, I've no doubt I'm skilled. But I'm just saying that maybe it's a good idea for a first kiss to not have an audience."

Her green gaze flitted to his lips before looking back up at him. "Please. You couldn't handle it," she dared with a slight shake of her head.

_Two can play that game_. He leered in towards her. "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," he threw back, popping the 't'.

She stared back in his eyes a moment more, before glancing down to his lips, and then he lost all concept of what was going on because she'd grabbed the lapels of his navy peacoat and pulled him into her, their lips crashing against each other. She tasted of rum and cinnamon, sweet and wet and hot against his mouth and he was more than happy to spend the rest of his days drowning in and devouring her flavour. He didn't know how he'd managed for fall for Emma so fast, but his last shred of reservation dissolved with her kiss.

Far too soon, she pulled back for air; both were breathing heavily, chest to chest. "That was…" he started, but no words came to him that could possibly describe how mindblowing it was.

"...good practice," she finished in between breaths. Quickly, she pulled back, avoiding his eyes. "You're coming to the party later, right?"

"Of course." He immediately missed her presence in his personal space.

"Wear something nice," she didn't say so much as commanded, glancing up at him coquettishly through her eyelashes.

"As you wish," he replied, in something of a daze.

"I need to go get ready. I'll see you later." And in a flash, she was gone; out of the cabin, up to the deck, and off the ship. As he listened to her gentle footfalls fade overhead, eventually disappearing altogether, his fingers drifted up to his kiss-swollen lips. He exhaled in disbelief, not even aware he'd been holding his breath. Bloody hell, mate; what have you gotten yourself into?

Whatever it was, he was eager for more.

It took a few moments longer, but eventually he regained enough composure to recall her order— _Wear something nice_ —and, military man through and through, did what he could to comply.

He popped back into their room at Granny's, after prepping and dressing on the ship, to grab his cuff links; David was finishing his own bow tie in the long mirror when he arrived.

"Every now and then, you clean up well, Jones," David quipped, pulling the knot tight.

"Same to you, mate; I can hardly tell you were raised in a barn."

"Ha. Ha."

As he attached his cufflinks, Killian decided to do some reconnaissance for his and Emma's (well, mostly his) plan. "So how did your day go after you saw Kathryn?"

David ducked his head. "Oh, you know, fine." However, David was a terrible liar.

"Nothing special happen?"

"I mean, things are done with Kathryn, for good. But nothing exciting past that." He glanced around, almost nervously. "Ooh boy, look at the time; we better head down."

No mention of Mary Margaret was not a good thing. Killian felt a slight pang of guilt that this whole operation was getting him closer to Emma when it was really about those two, so he knew they'd need to double down on their efforts tonight.

The diner and dance floor were almost unrecognizable; red and green streamers hung everywhere and white cloth mimicked fresh snow across every tabletop. Emma hadn't been lying when she told him—Granny really got into her Christmas Eve Eve party. A small band was playing dance and Christmas tunes in one corner and everyone was dressed to the nines, even Agent Lucas.

She was manning the bar when they got down there, still looking commanding even in her long, blush-pink gown. "As beautiful as ever, Agent—Mrs. Lucas," he greeted, resisting the urge to salute. She gave both of them a narrow stare for a second, before breaking into a grin and pulling them across the counter into her embrace.

"Merry Christmas, boys! But the real beauties are over there." After releasing them, she pointed at a booth on the far side of the room, where Emma and Mary Margaret were conversing with Ruby. "Go," she commanded with a wink and a shove.

Killian had to work to suppress his grin as they crossed the space, but he quickly noticed the unease in David's manner the closer they got. He made to make eye contact with Emma, try to tell her in a glance that things were not going as well as they had hoped, but as soon as they connected, his breath hitched in his throat for the second time that day.

She was a vision in red. A form-fitting gown, long sleeved, flaring out at the waist and ending just past her knees, showed off her wonderful figure, and her hair was elegantly done up in a bun. "Swan, you look stunning."

She quickly glanced him over top to bottom, evidently as much in awe as he was. "You...look…"

"I know," he interjected cockily, coming to his senses lest he boldly kiss her right there in front of everyone. He knew he cut quite the figure in his tailored black suit, but he couldn't help but admire the way his red brocade waistcoat matched her ensemble.

He glanced back over at David, who had exchanged quiet but awkward pleasantries with Mary Margaret. The lass had on a simple but elegant green velvet frock, which matched the color of David's bowtie (a bold contrast to his light gray suit). "You are looking marvelous this evening as well, Mary Margaret," he commented, hoping to break some of the tension. A sideways glance at Emma told him that she'd more than noticed it, too.

"Thank you, Killian. Would you care to dance?" She held her hand up to him, waiting. He tried to steel his features from his surprise at her request—it was rather bold for her, based on what Emma had told him and his own experiences with her. But an idea quickly formed in his mind.

"It would be my honor, love," he replied with an over-dramatic bow as he took her hand, earning an eyeroll from Emma. But as surreptitiously as he could, he caught her eye and jerked his head in David's direction, hoping she got the message, and led Mary Margaret to the dance floor, where a big band tune was playing.

She was a more than amiable partner, although her mind was clearly elsewhere and not on any conversation they might have. They weren't dancing long, though, when he saw David and Emma take to the floor, just as he'd hoped. _Alright, time to play matchmaker._

He manouevered himself and Mary Margaret in their direction as subtly as he could. When they were close enough, he made eye contact with Dave and nodded—their longstanding sign to switch partners, a tactic they'd used at bars and dance halls countless times. Before anyone could protest, he extended Mary Margaret's hand toward his friend and grabbed Emma's, guiding the girls around each other until Emma was in his arms. With a smile and a wink at David, he led Emma back across the floor.

"I'm impressed, Jones," she commented as they swayed away. "That was smooth."

"Can't say that's the first time I've done it," he chuckled. _But hopefully one of the last_. Even though the music was a bit fast-paced, he and Emma were extremely close, moving in time with the tempo and lining up perfectly with each other.

Both kept a watch over the other couple, but Emma was clearly enjoying herself too, giggling infectiously when he spun her out and pulled her back in tight to his arms. It felt far too comfortable.

But after a song, they watched as David and Mary Margaret—who had barely done more than shuffle and avoid eye contact for the duration of the dance—broke apart and headed to different corners of the room.

"I don't suppose Granny has any mistletoe hiding about that we can arrange them beneath?"

"No; that's the one thing she's banned. Ruby tries to get her to relent every year, but she never does. Probably because Ruby would spend all of her time underneath it." The girl in question was busy flirting with a brown-haired, bearded gentleman at the moment; he couldn't tell if it was going in her favor or not, but he knew Emma was right. "Order drinks and force them to sit together?" she suggested.

"Isn't that basically what we just did?" Her only reply was a huff of frustration. "I hate to say it, Swan," ( _no I don't_ ,) "but it _may_ be absolutely necessary."

Fear sparked in her eyes for a split second, but was quickly replaced by resolve. "Okay. Let's do this."

* * *

Mary Margaret had been having quite a day and it looked like the same would apply to tonight. She'd successfully managed to avoid David after what happened at breakfast, promptly blowing off their date in favor of helping out their former classmate Belle at the library. It was nice to catch up with her old friend, but the semi-mindlessness of returning books to shelves gave her a chance to think over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.

All signs from the night before told her that David liked her; that he wanted to pursue something with her. And she had thought that was what she wanted, too. _That kiss_...the memory of it still sent a warm shock down her spine and flutters in her heart.

But he looked far too comfortable with the woman in the diner. Their conversation looked intimate, and then he hugged her...and kissed her. ( _Okay, only on the cheek, but still. You don't do that when you're interested in someone else._ )

It hurt that he'd lead her on like that. And it was a solid reminder of what could happen if you go too far in with disreputable fellows. She saw what happened to Emma; she didn't want that to happen to either of them ever again.

So avoidance it was. And it was going spectacularly until the boys showed up at Granny's Christmas Eve Eve party. She should have expected it—the whole town showed up to the annual shindig, and guests of the hotel were always invited, too. (That, and Emma couldn't stop grinning after her afternoon with Killian.)

But they were all friends, right? So it wouldn't hurt if she asked Killian to dance, especially when he complimented her appearance.. He was a splendid dancer, even if her heart wasn't completely in it, and she was more than happy to follow his lead. To his credit, he did try to start up conversation a couple times—even tempting her with a story of Granny's secret past—but she really just didn't want to think about anything related to David at all tonight.

Which was fine and dandy until suddenly, they were on the opposite side of the room from where they started and she was being gracefully guided away from Killian and into the arms of the one person she wanted to avoid. She watched as Killian and Emma happily danced away from them, while she and David awkwardly shuffled in place.

"Sorry; he does that a lot," David offered as a weak apology. She could feel his gaze on her but refused to meet it.

"I can tell; that seemed pretty rehearsed." Even if she was mad at him, she wouldn't be rude. She'd finish the dance.

He didn't try to say anything else, but she could tell he wanted to. How she even noticed that was a surprise, because she was spending most of her energy focusing on the steps of the dance and not thinking about how perfectly his arms fit around her, about how easy it would be to place her head on his shoulder if she wanted, about how the warmth of his palm on the small of her back was practically an inferno.

Finally, the music ended. She glanced up at him, pointedly ignoring the hurt and desire in his eyes, and wished him a good night before turning her back on him. She thought she heard him say her name as she walked away, just like he had this morning, but her resolve propelled her away from him.

She found Belle and another friend, Ashley, by the Christmas tree, and joined in their conversation. But she did hazard a glance across the room; David had joined the woman from the diner, and was in conversation with her and another man. See? It's a good thing you're not with him.

It wasn't long before the piano chimed, calling the room to attention. Emma and Killian were standing by it, looking rather cozy; the perfect picture of a happy couple.

Killian cleared his voice and the room quieted. "Hello, everyone," he stammered, uncharacteristically nervous. "Emma and I wanted to say, well, um." He scratched behind his ear and glanced at her sister. _What is going on?_ "I don't know if the best things happen while you're dancing, or if they just happen in Maine, but, ah, Emma has—well, I—"

"We're getting married!" Emma interrupted excitedly. Mary Margaret's jaw dropped while the rest of the room burst into applause and hoots and hollers of congratulations. She was shocked, but the more she thought about it, the more her surprise wore off. Emma had never talked about Neal the way she did Killian, and though she hadn't known him long, she could tell he really cared for Emma. In fact, she was overjoyed that Emma had finally let down those walls around her heart; _about damn time_.

Before she realized what she was doing, her feet were carrying her to the happy couple, who were already being swarmed with well-wishers, but she dove through the crowd straight to Killian, grabbing his hand.

"You know you're getting the best girl in the whole world, right, Jones?"

"Aye, Miss Blanchard, the very best."

"And you'll take care of her? You won't break her heart?"

"I'd wish for my own death before I ever dared hurt her." His serious tone told her he was telling the truth.

She squeezed his hand, smiling, before pulling him into a hug. "Welcome to the family!"

Emma was next, and Mary Margaret threw herself at her sister, whispering her congratulations. Part of her never wanted to let go, but of course, Ruby chose that moment to speak up.

"Kiss her already!" came the shout from across the room, along with a few echoes.

Emma was the one to let go of her sister and reach for her beau. They exchanged a glance Mary Margaret couldn't quite read, but then he pulled her into a deep yet chaste kiss; any doubts Mary Margaret had about them disappeared then.

Somewhere outside the throng, Granny exclaimed, "I think this calls for champagne!" Out of the corner of her eye, Mary Margaret could see David coming into the group of people; still wanting to stay away from him, she volunteered to help pour as an out.

She'd never seen Granny so bouncy as they got the first round ready and was half convinced the tray would topple when Granny took them out. She was chuckling to herself when the door to the kitchen reopened moments later.

"Need some help?" David. _Of course._ Just to see what happened, she didn't respond.

And, ever the nice guy, he grabbed a bottle and began to fill glasses, too.

"Mary Margaret, I…" he began, but then trailed off. She hazarded a glance at him; the furrow of his brow suggested he was piecing together something in his head, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear it. _He can't just bounce around from girl to girl; it's not fair._

"Mary Margaret, if I did anything to upset you, I apologize. I don't know what happened, but—"

"It doesn't matter." She set her now-empty bottle down with a little more force than was necessary. _How can he not know?_

"It does. What about last night?"

"What about last night?" _Really? He's going there?_

"I thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong." She had to take a deep breath, lest she lose her composure altogether. "Maybe I was right about Prince Charming."

His mouth hung open; whatever he was about to say escaped him. "What does that mean?"

"It means you shouldn't mix fairy tales with liverwurst and buttermilk."

Calmly, but as quick as she could, she made her way to her room through the back of the kitchen, ignoring the awful sense of deja vu that was pricking tears at her eyes.


	5. And May All Your Christmases Be White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this fell to the backburner, but it's finally done! (Just shy of Christmas in July...for those of you in the middle of summer, maybe this will help cool off!)

In the chaos following their announcement, Emma lost track of her sister. She was hoping for a moment alone to talk to her, but Mary Margaret seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

Killian, of course, picked up on it right away. “You alright, love?”

“Yeah, fine. Just can’t find my sister.”

“She’ll turn up.”

Honestly, it surprised Emma how easy it was to convince everyone that they were actually engaged. Maybe it was because she knew it wasn’t real and that made it all the easier to throw herself into the charade; or—and this thought scared her—what if they naturally looked the part of the happy couple? In the few days she’d known Killian, he made her far happier than any man had in ages, possibly her whole life. But marriage? So soon?  _ No thanks _ .

They only had to keep it up long enough to get Mary Margaret and David together. But David had also vanished from the scene, so she could only hope the two of them were together somewhere.

After obliging the crowd with a few more kisses (which she couldn’t say she minded in the slightest; as she’d discovered that afternoon, Killian was quite talented in that department), they took a turn about the room, searching for either half of the wayward couple. But neither was to be seen.

“Do you think they turned in already?”

Emma glanced at the clock; 10 pm. “There’s always the chance with Mary Margaret; she’s never been a night owl.”

“Neither has Dave. Goodness, they were made for each other.” They shared a brief but concerned giggle. 

“Mingle a bit more and then head up?” she suggested.

“Aye.”

Ruby, to everyone’s chagrin,  _ had _ managed to sneak some mistletoe in this year and was playing some twisted kind of Cupid, hanging it over the unsuspecting heads of various people, and Emma and Killian quickly became her favorite target. (Ruby had partaken no small amount of alcohol, either.) Emma introduced Killian to the remainder of her hometown friends (he was going to get on famously with Belle, she could tell), before both exaggerated their yawns and announced their retirement.

Up in the hallway between their rooms, Killian held her hand tight before she could get too far from him. “Emma,” he said, almost reverently. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time again.”

“Me too.” Unprompted, she moved back into his space, and reached her free hand up behind his head, gently tugging down toward her. But he pulled back ever so slightly, eliciting an involuntary frown from her.

“We don’t have an audience anymore, Swan; you don’t have to.”

“ I want to.” She did—she truly did. No, she didn’t want to marry him at this very moment. But for the first time in a long time, she could see it in the future again.

Once more, she pulled him to her, and softly kissed him goodnight. It wasn’t as heated as their moment this afternoon, nor as deep as the ones they did for show, but far more genuine and meaningful for her.

They broke apart slowly, keeping their foreheads touching. Something about that simple connection felt so intimate to her and she hated to separate for the night, but they had to. 

As if he read her mind, he spoke up. “Good night, Emma,” he whispered, then nodded toward the door, “and good luck.”

“You too,” she softly replied with a gentle smile. She stepped back, gently squeezing his hand before letting go, and quietly slid into the room. 

Mary Margaret was already in bed, tucked in, facing away from her. “M&M?” Emma whispered, unable to tell if her sister was still awake or not, but no response came. “Mary Margaret, I…” she started, knowing it was probably fruitless to say anything if her sister was asleep, but feeling the need to anyway. “I know we always talked about the act breaking up someday, but I guess we always figured it’d be later rather than sooner. But now…” She swallowed as the finality of what she was saying hit her. “Now, you’re free to pursue whatever...or whoever...you want.”

She looked over at her sister’s still form.  _ Of course, she’s passed out cold. I just monologued to no one _ . But, just in case, she added, “I love you. Good night.”

She thought she heard a sniffle come from that side of the room as she got in bed, but Mary Margaret was still unmoving, so Emma figured she was hearing things. They’d talk in the morning.

* * *

Across the hall, Killian was undressing in awkward silence as David sat in bed, staring at nothing.

“I don’t think Agent Lucas would take too kindly to your burning a hole in her rug with your stare.”

David blinked and looked up at him, as if pulled from a trance. “Sorry; I was just thinking.”

“About?” Killian had seen David with Kathryn tonight;  _ could that be part of the problem? _ He wouldn’t put it past David to still be wrestling with feelings, despite what he said.

“I just...I wonder if there’s such a thing as true love.”

Killian sighed internally; David wasn’t usually one to doubt, save for when it came to this. His mother had raised her sons to value love above all things, which was admirable, but David sometimes overthought it. (Not in the case of Kathryn, of course, but he probably was right now.)

“I once felt as you did, mate,” Killian started, thinking of his recent breakup. But then he thought about the rollercoaster of emotions he’d been on today, and smiled. “All it took was meeting the right person, and everything changed.”

“Emma?” David asked.

“Aye,” he replied, honestly. Whatever they had was just starting, but he knew it was no passing fancy.

He could see David considering what he said, and smiled the moment he saw a look of resolve on David's face. “Thanks, Jones. Good pep talk.”

“Anytime, Dave.”

With anyone else, Killian would hope they took his advice, but with David, he didn't have to worry. For the first time in a long time, he went to sleep eager to see what the next day brought—for everyone. 

* * *

Mary Margaret got an early start the next morning, per usual, and was down in the diner with her breakfast and a stack of papers she was carefully filling out.  _ If Emma's going to chase after her dreams, so will I _ . 

(But, she had to admit: her heart wasn't fully in it.)

“M&M, what do you have there?”  _ Speaking of _ . Emma propped herself on the adjacent stool and, ever the little sister, peered down on the forms. “College applications?”

Mary Margaret had gotten them from the library with Belle’s help yesterday, to the University of Maine, Boston College, and Michigan State College—all schools with great education programs. She had planned on saving them for a rainy day, but what had happened yesterday morning with David and then last night with Emma and Killian prompted her to do it now.

“Mary Margaret, what's going on?” She didn't want to look up at Emma, knowing what she'd find on her sister’s face. But she did, and was right: confusion mixed with heartbreak. She sighed and put her pen down; she hadn’t wanted Emma to know about this until she had replies from the schools.  _ Should have known that wouldn't happen here _ . 

“Yes, Miss Blanchard, what  _ is _ going on?” Granny had appeared with Emma's usual breakfast, followed closely by Ruby, and was giving one of the looks that all the girls hated to receive: the one where she knew they were in trouble but wanted to hear it from them first.  _ No wonder she was an agent in the war _ .

“I'm…”  _ Say it, Mary Margaret. This is what you want. It's not that hard.  _

( _ So why am I hesitating? _ )

“I'm doing what you told me to do, Emma: I'm pursuing what I want.” Emma’s face fell even further; the placating hand Mary Margaret had placed over hers seemed to do nothing. “You’re going to have the adventure of your lifetime with Killian, so now it’s time for me to do this, like we’ve always talked about.”

Emma’s brow furrowed and she gave an accusing look that Mary Margaret hadn’t seen since she “borrowed” a doll when they were kids. “That's only part of it and you know it. You’re doing what I always do: you're running.”

“Running? Running from what?” She tried to scoff, but even she could tell it was forced. 

“Seriously, girl?” Granny wasn’t believing it, either.

“What? I’m not about to give up everything I’ve hoped for just for some...some guy.”

“No one is saying that, M&M,” Emma told her.

“But you’re the one who brought up the guy,” Ruby added with a smirk.

She glanced at the three knowing faces in front of her.  _ Dammit _ . She knew she’d been beat. 

“Fine! Yes, okay, I’m also doing this so you will all stop pushing me toward David, because it’s not going to happen,” she confessed. She knew she should feel better by saying that, but she just kind of...ached.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard.” She was startled; Granny hadn’t used her full name, and in that lecturing tone, since she was in high school. “I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge or take the easy way out. Why back out now when you’ve got a chance at love?”

She gulped involuntarily. They were right; they were so right. Despite whatever happened yesterday, she still felt an attraction to David, and that kiss had to mean something. He was the one who sought her out last night, too, and she knew she wouldn’t be this upset if he didn’t mean something to her. She sighed. “I guess if true love was easy, we’d all have it.”

Emma leaned toward her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, weren’t you the one who always told me that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing?” They’d had a much-loved storybook when they were kids with that same inscription; whenever the going got tough, Mary Margaret would repeat it for the both of them.

“You’re right,” she conceded. She looked at her little sister and thought of her own announcement last night, smiling. “It seems to have worked for you.” 

Emma looked down guiltily. “Yeah, um, about that…

Mary Margaret’s smile quickly fell away. “Oh, no, Emma, is something wrong?”  _ After I warned Killian and everything! _

“No, nothing like that; it’s just...um, we’re not really engaged.”

“What?” she gasped, shocked. (“ _ Looked real to me _ ,” Ruby whispered to her nodding grandmother; Mary Margaret agreed—she’d been equally convinced.)

“We just said that so you and David might get together; so you wouldn’t feel obligated to look after me and would feel free to go after him.  _ That’s _ what I was saying to you last night.”

She couldn’t believe it.  _ Played by my own flesh and blood. I guess she learned  _ some _ tricks from Neal _ . “Seriously, Emma? You thought you could trick me like that?”

“We were just trying to help—”

“No, you were trying to meddle and manipulate. I can’t believe…” Suddenly, everything last night made sense: the partner switching, their shared looks;  _ hell, they were probably the ones to send David into the kitchen after me!  _ Her emotions went reeling, and before the room did, too, she had to get out.

She hopped off the stool, disturbing her applications in her wake and making a beeline for the door. “I’ve gotta get some air; I’ll talk to you later.”

She ignored their pleas, and the falling snow, as she let the door behind slam her and she ran.

* * *

David had practically herded Killian out of their room and down to the diner that morning; he was that desperate to see Mary Margaret. He still didn’t know what he did to make her so angry at him last night, but he was going to get to the bottom of it, and at the very least apologize, if not more.

Killian’s brief speech last night had helped David realize that what he felt for her, even after only a few days, was more real than anything he’d had with Kathryn, and he’d be damned if he let her get away.

So his heart sunk to his stomach when they finally got downstairs, only to see Emma and the others staring at the door, its bell still clanging in the aftereffects of a violent closure. Emma turned to them abruptly, her eyes seeking out Killian’s, and David could see they were rimmed with tears. Killian hurried to her side.

“Emma, what is it? Where’s your sister?”

“She’s gone—”

“She’s gone?” David cut her off, shouting—not intentionally, but out of fear.  _ No, no, she can’t go! _ Without another thought, he too ran out the door, heading to the stables.  _ Maybe I can catch up to her, wherever she’s gone, on horseback _ .

The stable doors were wide open, and thankfully, it was warm in there—he hadn’t really thought through the whole running-outside-in-snowfall thing. But there was no time to waste. He took a brief moment to shake the snow from his hair and stomp it off his shoes before striding down the aisle to find a steed.

He’d barely gone a few yards when he found himself face-to-face with a snow-white horse and stopped in his tracks. “David?”

Mary Margaret was just behind it, holding the bridle. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She wasn’t as closed off as she was the night before, but he could tell she was wary.

“I will always find you, Mary Margaret.”

“Well, that’s a little bold of you,” she replied with a slightly mocking tone and a hint of playfulness in her eyes.

“How else is Prince Charming supposed to get the maiden fair?” She rolled her eyes, but he was pretty sure the blush on her cheeks wasn’t just from the cold.

But then, she was no-nonsense again. “Seriously, David: why are you out here?”

“To find out what I did wrong and apologize. I had thought, after our kiss, that maybe…”

She interrupted, with her eyes cast down. “Yeah, I know. I thought that, too. But then I saw you with that blonde woman, and you kissed her, and—”

“Who, Kathryn?” She looked up at him, confused at his familiarity, apparently.  _ So that’s what happened! _ “Kathryn is my ex-fiancee; when you saw us, we were just closing that book. Forever,” he added, to emphasise the finality.

“Oh.” She seemed to be absorbing it, so he continued.

“Yeah; she’s found someone else.”

“I see.” Mary Margaret swallowed. “And...have you?”

“I just told you who I found.” 

I took one second for her to realize what he’d said and two for her to launch herself at him, grabbing the labels of his collared shirt and bring his lips to hers. He was vaguely aware of the horse snorting and trotting away, but was too absorbed in pouring everything into that kiss to care. He knew he’d never kiss anyone else again;  _ this must be what True Love’s Kiss feels like _ .

Finally breaking apart for air, they leaned into each other and he pulled her tight—partly to keep her warm, but mainly just to hold her. They just stood there for a moment, breathing each other in, until she started to giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

She looked up at him, laughter in her eyes. “I guess Snow White found her Prince Charming after all.”

Any sensation of cold went away; her smile filled him with warmth, and he leaned down for another kiss, eternally grateful that he’d let himself get talked into coming to Maine in the first place.

* * *

“Well, I’d say that worked out, love.”

Killian stood in one of the diner’s front windows, watching the scene unfolding in the stable, with Emma tucked close to his side. (He could blame their close proximity on the small size of the window, but they both knew that wasn’t it.)

“I think it did.” She hummed in agreement and glanced up at him, a soft smile on her face. They were close enough that she could probably hear his heart racing, but he didn’t care.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

“And why would that upset me?”

“Well, that plan worked wonderfully. Perhaps we could take up business—”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He was momentarily taken aback by her bluntness, but he certainly wasn’t one to complain. “As you wish.”

The falling snow on the other side of the glass was a picture-perfect backdrop to their picture-perfect kiss. Who knew that getting stabbed in the shoulder would eventually lead him here?

It was all worth it for this white Christmas...and hopefully many more.


End file.
